


Culpability

by well_that_was_gay



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: (You can only see the Newtmas if you squint sorry), Kinda PTSD ?, M/M, Murder, No Trenda thank god, Post-The Death Cure, Suicide, Triggers, i guess, set in paradise, tdc spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 11:02:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4098619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/well_that_was_gay/pseuds/well_that_was_gay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas feels guilty after Newt's death, and one day it all catches up to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Culpability

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my first fic on here, and I'm really excited to post this. Please tell me what you think and leave a kudos if you liked it! (:
> 
> -
> 
> There is quite a lot of suicide references/actions in this fic so if that may trigger you please don't read. I'd rather you stay happy than read this and get triggered.

 

                It had been one year, two months, fourteen days, seven hours, and thirty four minutes since _it_ happened. It’s been one year, two months, fourteen days, seven hours, and thirty four minutes and Thomas is still not okay. His dreams are plagued with the memories of Newt laughing, smiling, working, fighting, limping, yelling, dying, and bleeding in Thomas’ arms.

                Thomas barely sleeps.

                He works in the makeshift town he, Gally, and Minho are slowly building up from the ground all day, and then at night he gets a couple of hours of sleep if he’s lucky. On bad nights he stays up and thoughts about what he did to Newt overwhelm the need for sleep.

               Tonight is bad night, and Thomas knows no sleep will come.

               Crying and self-destructive thoughts fill up the desolate, empty hours of the night until the sun peeks the horizon, and Thomas gets up and pretends that he just got a full night’s sleep. He put on his best smile because he couldn’t let anyone see how tired and broken he is inside. If Minho or anyone else found out about his depressive lifestyle they’d have him under 24/7 watch to make sure he didn’t do anything like slit his wrists or shoot himself in the head. Sometimes he thought about pulling that trigger, just to make the sleepless nights end.

                He goes and eats Frypan’s breakfast with Minho and Gally, letting out a small chuckle as they bicker over some pointless structure that they all know none of them could build.

                “Minho you stupid shank, we definitely need to put in skylights in this part of the pool so we can use less lightbulbs!” Gally argues with Minho in an amused tone.

                Minho lets out an exasperated sigh, “No! If we do that no one could see their way around the West Hallway at night, and we’d have too many broken toes to count. The best way around that is to install at least a few lightbulbs in that room and the hallway.”

                Gally groaned, frustrated, “But if we do that we won’t have enough to put in the main room, and nobody could even see the way to the West Hall.”

                “Thomas, what do you think about this?” Minho tuned to Thomas and raised a questioning eyebrow.

                Thomas shrugged, “I think instead of building a pool, maybe it’d be more beneficial if we finished building the houses for everybody.”

                “Yeah, yeah, I know, but think about it theoretically,” Minho said as he stabbed a greasy piece of sausage.

                “Theoretically I think we should have a full-out gym, not just a pool,” Thomas stood up with the other two boys as they walked to the dirty dishes rack.

                “Oh my God Thomas you’re a genius!” Gally and Minho launched into another conversation on the layout of gym while Thomas sunk deeper into his pit of self-loathing.

                _If I was a genius I could’ve made a cure. I could’ve saved Newt._ Thomas thought to himself, _Newt wouldn’t be dead and rotting on a highway in Denver, he’d be here next to me, smiling and laughing. I wouldn’t have to lie about the last time I saw Newt, because it wouldn’t include me killing him. I should be dead, not him. I should just kill myself tonight. Just tell Minho I killed our best friend, then put it all to an end._

                “Hey shank! Get outta your daydreams and come here and help us with this,” Gally shouted at Thomas, pulling him out of his thoughts and back into the real world.

                That day Thomas worked harder than he ever had, and their small group of three raised two houses because of it. It made Thomas feel good to know that he was making a difference before he left all of this behind. Eight people would have a place to live now, ( _well_ _actually_ _nine_ _after_ _tonight_ , he thinks to himself) and it made Thomas happy. Less work would have to be done now, and even though Minho’s and Gally’s group would have less workers they wouldn’t fall behind.

                It’s not like his presence even would have mattered once the construction was done. He hadn’t obtained any truly helpful skills in the small amount of time he remembered. He couldn’t run around all day, or go around shooting people in the head. Thomas couldn’t do anything that would be helpful except kill himself.

                As dinner approached he feigned sickness and snuck off to the weaponry. All of the guns and other dangerous paraphernalia was stored in the small building, even the one he killed Newt with. Some Immune had picked it up and when they brought it in Thomas immediately recognized it. There was still a smear of a maroon colored stain on the edge where it fell into Newt’s pooling blood after Thomas dropped it.

                Minho had picked it up when he saw it and chuckled. “Hey Thomas, look at this!” He had held the unloaded gun out to Thomas with a humorous grin, “Looks almost like some poor shanks blood got on it. Who knows maybe it even killed some of those damn cranks that attacked us.”

                Thomas grimaced and shook the thought from his head, then hid the gun in his jacket’s inner pocket. He quickly walked back to the house he shared with Frypan, Gally, and Minho. The small shelter wasn’t much, but it had been home to Thomas for quite some time, and a wave of sadness hit him as he realized he was entering the only permanent place he had ever had for the last time.

                Thomas grabbed some of the papers they stored in the small desk in Gally’s room and speedily jotted down notes for each of the boys. Both Frypan’s and Gally’ were easy to write compared to Minho’s note. His was like reliving the exact moment he pulled the trigger over and over as he wrote down words recounting that day.

                He started in the van when the cranks attacked them, then went on until the moment he pulled the trigger. Thomas wrote down the exact words spoken in that last conversation, those words of hatred Newt had screamed at him blaring in his mind as he wrote them down.

_“   It’s all your fault.” “All your fault.” “ **Your** **fault**.”                _

                Thomas knew it was his fault, god did he know. Without him the Trials would’ve never happened, and Newt and all of the other Gladers wouldn’t have lived in a literal hell for years. They could’ve lived full lives with families and would’ve never had to fight for their life. He let out a quiet sob, then took the notes and placed them on each of the remaining Glader’s beds.

                He looked outside at the sprawling land dotted with houses and stopped his eyes when he got to the kitchen. Even from far away Thomas could see Minho and Gally laughing at something Frypan had said, and the way everything fit together perfectly even when he wasn’t there with them.

                The lanky boy turned around and pulled the gun out of his jacket. Its shiny metal surface gleamed from the last rays of sun drifting through the window, and sent little specks of light glimmering around the room as Thomas raised the gun to his head.

                As he wrapped his finger around the trigger he caught a glimpse of a blond haired boy standing in the corner of the bedroom.

                Newt looked like he did the first day in the Glade, smiling brightly and looking healthy as ever. He almost seemed to beckon Thomas to join him on the other side, and a small grin spread across Thomas’ face.

                “Tommy, it’s wonderful here, you have to join me and the others,” Newt pleaded with his soft accented voice Thomas hadn’t heard in over a year, “Please Tommy, please.”

                With his heart rising from the black abyss it had lived in for so long, Thomas pulled the trigger.


End file.
